Minimum Wage Sidekick Omnibus: Books 1-3

By Lucas Flint

Action, adventure, and more in three great superhero books!

For the first time ever, get the first three Minimum Wage Sidekick books in one convenient package!

In "First Job," sixteen-year-old Alex Fry (Beams) gets his first job as a sidekick and must decide where his loyalties lie; in "First Date," Beams must evade a supervillain assassin hired to take him down; and in "First Offer," Beams gets a job offer from a new superhero in town, but there is more than meets the eye to his new superhero and Beams must find out what it is before it's too late.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Secret Identity Books
• Release date: Jun 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393334453

Lucas Flint

Lucas Flint writes superhero fiction. He is the author of The Superhero’s Son, Minimum Wage Sidekick, The Legacy Superhero, and Capes Online, among others. Find links to books, social media, updates on newest releases, and more by going to his website at www.lucasflint.com

Book preview

Book 1: First Job

CHAPTER ONE

Sometimes, I wished that I had gotten super speed or flight as powers instead of eye beams. That way, I wouldn’t be late for my first day at work at my first job as the sidekick of a famous superhero.

Of course, Dad had told me to get to bed at a decent time the night before so I could get up early enough to prepare for work. Mom had agreed and even tried to set my alarm for me, but I told her I would set it myself before I went to bed last night. It was just too embarrassing to have my mom set my alarm for me; I was 16-years-old, after all, I could set my own alarm. And I didn’t like Dad telling me to get to bed at a decent time, either, even though I respected Dad a lot.

But now, as I rode my bicycle through the streets of Golden City, trying desperately to not be late to work, I was starting to realize that my parents had been right to worry about me. Not that I would ever admit it, but my parents were usually more right than wrong about these things.

Not that that realization helped me right now. I had slept in this morning; I was supposed to get up at seven, shower and have breakfast, and then bike to the location where I was supposed to meet the representative that Rubberman—a local superhero and my new boss—had sent to get me at eight. Then I would be transported to Rubberman’s base, secretly, of course, so no bystanders would see me and find out my secret identity, which would result in me losing my sidekick license if that were to happen.

Not that it would really matter if someone saw me, though, because I was pretty damn sure that I was going to be fired on my first day for being late. I was so used to sleeping in on Saturdays that I had totally forgotten to set an alarm the night before so I could wake up in time to get ready. The only reason I woke up at all was because I smelled the bacon Mom cooked for breakfast; by then, it was seven thirty, which meant I’d had to rush like the Blur to shower and leave. I only ate a few slices of bacon for breakfast, plus half a cup of coffee, but I still felt tired and draggy. Still, if I kept up the pace, I would reach the meeting spot by eight, although it was now seven fifty and I was getting increasingly nervous about my chances of getting there in time.

And I couldn’t be late. Rubberman had made it pretty clear that I had to be at work at eight. He didn’t exactly say that he would fire me if I didn’t show up on time, but Rubberman had earned a reputation for being a superhero concerned with excellence and professionalism, to the point where he’d fired his first sidekick due to his constant laziness and unprofessional attitude. Rubberman seemed like a pretty chill guy when I spoke to him at the job interview, but I was not going to risk inciting his wrath by messing up his schedule by being late.

Thankfully, Golden City was still half-asleep so early in the morning. The city buses were already moving up and down the streets, while a few pedestrians made their way to work, pulling up the collars of their coats to keep the cold wind from biting their faces. I rode past an open cafe and caught a whiff of fresh coffee and donuts from within, which made my stomach growl, but I didn’t stop because I didn’t have time to eat and drink. I rode past an elderly woman walking her small poodle, which yapped at me as I passed, but I just ignored it. My focus was strictly on the street ahead of me and I could not allow my attention to be diverted by anything. Even if Apparition himself were to suddenly appear in front of me, I would just keep going.

But just as I turned the corner, I caught a flash of blonde in front of me and saw a teenage girl about my age directly in my path. I was going too fast to stop, so I swerved out of the way, avoiding her just in the nick of time. Unfortunately, my bike went off the sidewalk and it crashed, causing me to fall onto the street and bump my head against the road. Thankfully, I was wearing my helmet; however, my glasses had fallen off and now my vision was blurry. Not only that, but I felt my elbow scrape against the street, although it didn’t hurt that much. Still, I grabbed it anyway and let out an involuntary moan of pain.

Oh my gosh! said a female voice above me that I instantly recognized. Are you okay?

I quickly looked up and now felt like even more of an idiot when I saw who, exactly, the girl was: Greta Hammond, one of my classmates and a sort of friend of mine.

I say ‘sort of’ friend because we were on good terms with each other, but didn’t hang out or talk much except in class. That wasn’t because I disliked her or anything; it was because I was too intimidated by her good looks to approach her.

Greta was blonde and had the clearest and most beautiful blue eyes I’d ever seen in a girl. She wore a cute pink skirt and a white coat to go along with it today; even though her family wasn’t super rich, she still somehow always managed to look good. Or, at least, I thought she did, though based on some of the envious comments I’d heard from some of the other girls in class, I definitely wasn’t the only person to hold that opinion.

Those beautiful blue eyes of hers were looking down at me with real concern, but that didn’t make me feel better. Actually, I felt like a complete idiot, lying in the street with my glasses missing and my helmet askew. My clothes were probably dirtied up, too, and I probably looked like a real loser to Greta at the moment.

But I said, as I sat up and started feeling along the street for my glasses, Oh, it’s nothing, Greta. I’m totally fine. I fall down all the time. This is nothing.

Even though I said that pretty casually, I immediately punched myself internally when I said that. What kind of idiot says that? I bet Greta thought I looked like a retard at the moment, which certainly wouldn’t help my chances with her.

But I guess Greta was more polite than I thought, because she just giggled a little and said, Alex, do you need me to help you find your glasses? It’s my fault you crashed like that and I should help.

No, no, no, I got this, I said, although I couldn’t help but beam internally when she said my name with such concern. I lose my glasses all the time. It’s nothing.

Again, I punched myself internally for saying such a stupid thing, but Greta either didn’t notice or maybe was too polite to mention it. She just bent over, picked up something off the street, and held it out to me. Here they are. They’re a little cracked, though.

I immediately took the glasses and put them on. A ‘little’ cracked was an understatement; there was a large crack running right through the middle of the right lens, while the left was scratched up near the lower left corner. I could still see out of them, but it was harder than usual and I was sure that it made me look like even more of an idiot than I normally did.

Still, it would have to do, so I said, Thanks, Greta, and jumped back to my feet and pulled my bike back up with me. I got back on it, but before I could resume my quest, Greta grabbed my arm and said, Where are you going?

An electric thrill ran through my arm when Greta touched me, almost making me jump, but instead I just looked at Greta and said, "Somewhere important. Where are you going?"

I’m going to get breakfast, said Greta. My dad is in town from his work and he’s going to meet me at our favorite cafe this morning.

Huh, really? I said, although I could feel time ticking away even as I stood there. But getting a chance to talk to Greta was too tempting for me to ignore, so I didn’t pull my arm out of her hand. That’s, uh, nice.

It is, said Greta with a smile. But then she suddenly frowned. Are you in a hurry? And what’s this card you dropped? Is it your driver’s license?

I looked down at the street and saw my sidekick license lying face down on the street near the front wheel of my bicycle. Somehow, it had fallen out of my coat pocket when I fell, although I hadn’t felt it fall out.

But that was irrelevant, because Greta was bending down to pick it up and I couldn’t let her look at it otherwise she would know my secret identity and the government would revoke my license.

I quickly snatched it off the street just as her fingers brushed against its surface, causing Greta to look at me in surprise as I sat back up in my bicycle and stuffed my license back into my coat pocket. I now understood why Dad had wanted me to get a wallet when I got my license last week; it was starting to feel like today was the day I’d learn the truth behind everything my parents told me to do.

Thanks for pointing that out, I said. But I really gotta go. Have fun with your dad!

Before Greta could say anything else, I immediately took off, pedaling down the street faster than ever. I felt incredibly guilty for just blowing her off like that and I was sure that she would never want to go out with me after this. Not that I had the courage to ask her out anyway, but at least me going out with her was within the theoretical realm before; now, it was firmly in the fictional realm, along with the possibility of me getting to work on time and not getting fired by my boss on my first day of work. A glance at my wristwatch showed that it was only two minutes before eight; there was no way I would get there on time.

Nonetheless, I pedaled fast, heedless of the danger of biking along a street with my cracked and scratched glasses. Just the thought of getting fired before I even started was enough to terrify me into pedaling faster than I normally would ever go. My older brother, James, would never let this down if I got fired on my first day of work.

Turning into an abandoned alleyway, I saw the meeting spot up ahead: An old grocery store, which, as far as I can tell, was completely devoid of people. The GPS app on my watch told me that that was the place, so I gave myself a boost of speed in a final bid to reach it on time.

Finally, I came to a stop in front of the store, the tires of my bike screeching along the pavement as I came to a halt. Panting and sweating even in the cool morning air, I looked to the left and to the right for the representative that Rubberman said was supposed to meet me here. But the alleyway was completely empty; I didn’t see any sign that anyone had been here at all. This part of the city felt forgotten.

I looked down at my watch.

It was one minute past eight. Eight o’ one.

Which meant that I was going to be fired and that Rubberman was likely already calling up the government to have them revoke my sidekick license.

CHAPTER TWO

Ididn’t know what to do. I just sat there on my bike, staring at the handlebar, which was barely visible through my cracked and scratched up glasses. I didn’t cry; I may not have been as strong as my older brother James, but I knew better than to cry about my problems. Still, I was definitely devastated and too stunned to know what to do.

Should I just go home and tell Mom and Dad that I was fired before I even started? Mom would probably be upset, while Dad would be relieved, given that he doesn’t think much about superheroes. But I didn’t want to face either of their reactions. And then there was James; he was visiting home from college this week and I didn’t want to suffer his teasing for failing so epically. Then again, I still gave him grief over how he quit his job as a sidekick so quickly when he was younger, so I would probably deserve it.

I pulled out my phone and opened my contacts. I had Rubberman’s number; of course, it was labeled ‘BOSS’ so no one looking through my contacts would suspect that I was his sidekick. I considered calling Rubberman to let him know that I was late, but I was too afraid of angering him to do it. I just stared at his number for what felt like an eternity before I put the phone back into my pocket, grabbed my bike’s handlebar, and turned it around. I would just go home, maybe grab a bite to eat at that cafe on the way there, and tell my parents about my failure. It was pretty clear that I had messed up beyond belief now. I would just spend the rest of the day playing video games or something. Or maybe just curled up under my covers hoping to die a peaceful death so I wouldn’t have to go to school on Monday and see Greta, who no doubt thought I was an idiot now. If Rubberman was going to fire me, he could just call me or something.

Sighing, I put my foot on the pedal before an aged voice behind me said, Are you Alex Fry?

I froze in my seat and looked over my shoulder. Standing in front of the grocery store was an elderly man who was probably in his late sixties. He had perfectly combed back white hair and wore a black tuxedo that made him look completely out of place in this abandoned alleyway. Even though he was old, he had great posture; he stood as upright as a board, his old brown eyes looking down at me with impatience.

I took my foot off the pedal and, turning my bike around again, said, Yes, that’s me. Who are you?

Adams, said the old man. He had a light Scottish accent. I am the butler of Mr. Dennis Pullman, also known as Rubberman, and I am the representative that he sent to find a Mr. Alex Fry, who is starting work for him as his sidekick today. Adams held out a hand. May I see your sidekick license in order to confirm your identity?

I just sat there on my bike, staring at Adams in shock. But I’m late.

Yes, but only by about a minute, said Adams. He didn’t lower his hand. Now, will you show me your license or not?

Flabbergasted, I nonetheless pulled my license out of my pocket and handed it to him. Adams took the license, glanced at it, and then pulled out a small card reader from his pocket. He stuck the top end of my card into the reader, which then made a small ‘beep,’ causing him to pull out my card and look at the display. Then he nodded once and handed me my card back.

The scanner has confirmed that your card is real, said Adams. He turned around. Please come with me, Mr. Fry. Mr. Pullman is a very busy man and would like to get you acquainted with his business and base as quickly as possible so you can get started working for him.

Yeah, but my bike—

Will be safe inside the grocery store, said Adams. Mr. Pullman bought this property and installed advanced security systems in it, so you need not worry about vagrants, thieves, or supervillains breaking in and stealing your bicycle while you leave it unattended.

Not sure what else to say to that, I followed Adams into the store. Directly to the right of the entrance was a bike rack, which I put my bike in. I also chained it up, but I sensed that there were other security measures around the bike that were more advanced than a mere chain. But I didn’t ask Adams about them; I had a feeling they were supposed to be top secret. I also put my helmet on the bike, because I didn’t think I would need it where I was going.

As for the grocery store itself, it certainly didn’t look like an abandoned store on the inside. The walls, floor, and ceiling were covered in metal plating, which gave it a clean, modern look that was a pretty sharp contrast to the grungy, abandoned exterior. It was just one room, too, with no other doors leading into or out of the place. I glanced over my shoulder to see out the window, but was surprised to see that it was just a solid wall.

I looked at Adams, who stood in the center of the room looking as dignified as always. What happened to the window?

It’s not there, said Adams. The window you saw on the outside is merely a projection; in fact, the entire front exterior is nothing more than a holographic projection designed by Holo Industries. It is meant to keep people from noticing what it really is and investigating.

What is it, really? I said.

The entrance to Rubberman’s base of operations, of course, said Adams. He calls it the Elastic Cave.

Elastic Cave? I said. That’s kind of cheesy.

I expressed the same sentiments to Mr. Pullman when he first built it, but he assured me that it is part of his ‘brand’ to have everything rubber-themed, said Adams. Anyway, come over here and stand next to me. We will take an elevator down to the Elastic Cave, where Mr. Pullman is currently working. But do not worry; he will be more than happy to take time out of his work day to meet you.

He’s working already? I said as I walked over to Adams. But it’s eight in the morning.

Mr. Pullman believes in getting up early and starting work right away, said Adams. He is not a believer in laziness or incompetence.

I tried not to look nervous as I stood next to Adam. I wasn’t lazy or incompetent, but the idea of Rubberman or Mr. Pullman or whatever he wanted to be called being such a workaholic made me rethink just how hard I was going to have to work. Then again, if I was still going to get to work here even after being late, then maybe Rubberman wasn’t going to be such a hard boss after all. Or maybe this was just to lower my guard and then he would fire me as soon as I made a mistake.

Did I mention that I over-think things? Because I do.

Adams held up his watch and tapped a button on the screen. Immediately, we began to sink into the floor; well actually, it was the platform under our feet, but you get the idea. We went down into the floor into a space that was far too narrow for my liking, but Adams didn’t look very concerned or uncomfortable. He just stood there, not saying a thing, as we descended deeper and deeper underground, until there was a small ‘bing’ and he said, Here we are, just as the door opened in front of us. Adams stepped out first and I followed, looking around at where we had emerged as we walked.

In contrast to the small entrance room above, this place was huge. It really did feel like an actual cave, although I couldn’t tell if it was a natural formation that Rubberman had modified or if it was an artificial construction that Rubberman built himself. It had the same metal plating as the room above, but it had way more features than the room above. Directly ahead of us was a huge computer control panel that had about a dozen smaller screens crowded around a much larger screen. The screens, as far as I could tell, displayed either the news or security footage of the alleyway outside of the grocery store front, although all of the screens were muted. That was good, because I figured that the audio from so many screens playing at once in this place would be deafening. The monitors displaying the news did have closed captioning on, however.

On the right side of the room was an arch that led to what appeared to be another part of the Cave, while next to the arch was a door labeled ‘EQUIPMENT AND COSTUMES.’ That was probably where Rubberman kept all of the fun stuff, but unfortunately I would not get to look in there at the moment, because Adams led me to the left side of the Cave, where a short hallway with about a dozen doors on each side stood. We walked past the doors—which were marked with words like ‘FOOD’ and ‘CLEANING SUPPLIES’ and, rather ominously, ‘BOMB SHELTER’—until we reached a door at the end of the hall. Unlike the other doors, this one was made of a beautiful wood, maybe oak or something, and it had the words ‘DENNIS PULLMAN’ on it in gold lettering. There was also a camera in the corner just above the door, which I figured was probably so Rubberman could see who was on the other side.

Adams knocked on the door and said, Mr. Pullman? Alex Fry is here to work.

Come in, came a voice from the speaker in the wall next to the door. I’m available.

Adams immediately opened the door and entered, gesturing for me to follow. I didn’t hesitate to follow him inside, even though I was extremely nervous about meeting Rubberman. I had already met him once before, when he interviewed me for the job, but that was before I became his sidekick. I just hoped that he wasn’t too angry at me for being late.

Stepping into Rubberman’s office was an experience in itself. The floor was covered with simple wood, as were the walls and ceiling, but more importantly was what adorned the walls. On one side were large posters depicting Rubberman in various poses; some of them showed him in a fighting pose, while others showed him standing with his arms crossed over his chest, a smirk on his face as if challenging whoever was looking at him to take him on. There was also a picture of Rubberman shaking hands with the President of the United States, although their smiles looked extremely forced, like they didn’t actually like each other all that much.

On the other side of the room was a bunch of shelves with what looked like Rubberman merchandise on them. There were shoes, a baseball cap with Rubberman’s logo on the bill, gloves, and even an unopened package of Rubberman brand underwear, disturbingly enough. I recognized most of it because I’d seen it in stores; Rubberman’s merchandise was really popular, although I noticed a few things, such as a key chain, that I didn’t recognize. Maybe it was new or maybe it was old merch that had been taken off sale at some point. The room also smelled of rubber; not exactly a bad smell, but not one I really enjoyed all that much, though at least it was warmer in here than it was outside.

And sitting behind a desk that was covered with a desktop computer and other Rubberman merch was the man himself, my new boss, and one of the most famous superheroes in America, Rubberman himself.

He was incredibly tall and skinny, far more so than I remembered him being when he interviewed me for the job. He was also in his costume: A blue and white jumpsuit that could stretch with his body. Yeah, I didn’t know how that worked, either; maybe the suit was made out of some kind of special material that he developed himself or something. I asked him about it during my job interview, but at the time he just told me that he got it from a company called Super Apparel, although the exact serum for his particular suit was a ‘trade secret’ and that he couldn’t share his exact ‘source’ in the company with me in case I accidentally told the competition about it. Apparently, there was a big demand in the superhero industry for material that could handle the variety of powers and abilities that supers used and having his own source for such a material must have given him an edge over the competition.

At the moment, Rubberman was sitting at his desk, typing at a computer furiously. And he wasn’t typing like a normal person; his rubbery fingers stretched along the keyboard, hitting each key quickly, while a cup of coffee hovered by his side supported by one of his thumbs. I didn’t understand how his fingers didn’t get all tangled together, but I guess he was just that good.

When Adams and I entered, Rubberman glanced at us and said, Just a moment. I’m almost finished here. Adams, please show Alex to his seat and then get me breakfast. I’m starving.

Yes, sir, said Adams.

Adams led me over to a wooden chair that seemed awfully cheap in front of the desk and then left the room without further ado. That left me alone with Rubberman, who was still typing away, his eyes practically glued to the monitor. I wondered if Rubberman’s eyes could stretch or not, although even if they could, I figured that probably would not be a very smart thing to do.

Finally, Rubberman hit one last key and then pulled his fingers off the keyboard. He turned to look at me, a sheepish smile on his face. Sorry, but I was just answering some emails. Finalizing a deal that my agent is making with a toy company to release collectible Rubberman figurines later this year.

You’re getting action figures? I said in surprise.

Not action figures, said Rubberman. Figurines. I actually have a prototype on my desk. See?

Rubberman gestured at the miniature figurine of himself on his desk that I had noticed earlier. Like Rubberman, it appeared to be made of rubber, although it looked more like those bendable kind of figurines rather than the stretching kind. Its likeness to him was eerily accurate, although it looked unfinished.

Rubberman picked up the figurine and began bending the limbs. Isn’t this just the coolest? When I was a kid, I used to collect figurines just like this. Never thought some toy company would someday be interested in making figurines based off me, though, especially as a tie-in for a movie.

Movie? I said. What do you mean?

They’re making a movie based off yours truly, said Rubberman. He held up a hand and moved it through the air like he was imagining the movie title in headlights. "Currently, we’re calling it Rubber, but I think that Rubberman would be better. It’s clearer and more in line with current superhero movie titles, don’t you agree?"

Uh, I said, not sure what to say. It’s ... okay.

To my relief, Rubberman just chuckled. Ah, Alex, that’s a good one. You and I will get along great.

Yeah, definitely, I said. I hesitated. But ... you aren’t angry that I was late?

Rubberman blinked. You were late? He glanced at his wristwatch. Ah, so you are. I was just so absorbed by my work that I didn’t realize it. But that’s fine. You’re not nearly as late as my last sidekick used to be, anyway.

I didn’t sigh in relief, but I did relax a little. Oh, thanks. I was worried there for a second.

No, that’s fine, said Rubberman. He peered at me. What happened to your glasses? I don’t remember them being cracked during your interview.

Oh, I fell on the street and they kind of cracked, I said, touching the frames of my glasses. It’s not a problem, though. I can still see.

We’ll need to get those repaired, said Rubberman. If you’re going to work for me, then you will need to be in tip top shape.

No, it’s fine, I insisted. I’ll just have my parents get me a new pair when I get home. You don’t need to worry about it.

Rubberman pursed his lips, but nodded and said, Fine. You won’t be wearing your glasses today anyway, because your costume just came in and it comes equipped with a visor that acts as glasses anyway.

I leaned forward excitedly. My costume is in? Where is it?

In another room on the other side of the Cave, said Rubberman, gesturing at the door behind me. But don’t get up to try it on just yet.

I had already half risen from my seat in my excitement, but I stopped when Rubberman said that. I had been looking forward to wearing my costume the most, but I didn’t understand why he didn’t want me to wear it now. Why not? I’m ready.

Because I want to see your license first, said Rubberman, holding out his outstretched hand (literally; it was stretching toward me like the rest of his body). I know that Adams has probably already confirmed your identity, but I need to see the license myself. I also want to talk to you about your duties under me before you get started so you know what I need you to do.

Feeling annoyed at not getting able to put on my costume right away, I nonetheless fished my sidekick license out of my pocket and handed it to Rubberman, who took it and looked it over. A smile appeared on his face as he looked up at me and said, I’m glad to see that the government has approved your superhero name. It’s pretty common for them to reject it in favor of something they think is more appropriate or ask us to change it to something else.

I tried not to look disappointed. I know, but I don’t really like it.

Why? said Rubberman in surprise as he handed me my license back. I think that Beams is a great name for a sidekick who can shoot lasers from his eyes. It’s short, easy to remember, easy to spell, easy to pronounce, and will look great on merchandise.

You mean I’ll get merchandise? I said, my feelings of embarrassment evaporating instantly. Like your figurines?

Not right away, said Rubberman quickly, shaking his head. He continued to play with the prototype in his hands. A general rule in the biz is that sidekicks don’t get merch until they’ve been working for us for a year. No point in spending money creating posters and coffee mugs when your sidekick might quit next week, you know?

Oh, I said, my feelings of excitement deflating. I understand, I guess. Do sidekicks quit often?

Not ... often, at least in my business, said Rubberman in a voice that told me that it must have been more often than he’d admit. But turnover in this industry is pretty high. This is an incredibly stressful business due to the obvious reason that we’re basically glorified private police, not helped by the fact that loads of parents hate putting their children in harm’s way and usually force their kid to quit when things get too dangerous.

Sounds like something my dad would do, I said. He thinks this business is too dangerous even for adults.

Only if you don’t follow government regulation and best practices, said Rubberman. Trust me, Alex, I won’t put you in any dangerous situations just yet. I like to give new sidekicks a trial period of three months; you won’t fight any supervillains or criminals, but you will get to train in hand to hand fighting, as well as how to use your powers in combat.

You mean I won’t get to fight supervillains with you? I said, feeling even more disappointed than before.

Not yet, said Rubberman. He placed his figurine back on his desk suddenly, a serious look appearing on his face. Trust me, while this business has its perks, it’s also very dangerous. Until I know you can defend yourself, I won’t put you in harm’s way, no matter what.

I nodded, but I was actually divided about how I felt about that. On one hand, it was the dream of every kid who wanted to be a sidekick to fight criminals and supervillains. That was one of the reasons we liked superheroes so much; they fought bad people all the time and kept us safe, sometimes even safer than the government could.

On the other hand, I really wasn’t that much of a fighter. I wasn’t fat, but I also wasn’t exactly the next Mr. Bicep, either. Every fight I’d ever gotten into as a kid usually ended with me getting beaten down; the only fight I ever won was when I threw sand into the bully’s eyes, and even then, he would have pounded me into pulp if the teachers hadn’t broken up the fight before it could get real ugly. It was probably for the best that Rubberman wasn’t going to let me fight criminals and supervillains right away, though I did feel a little annoyed that he didn’t really trust me yet.

So if I’m not going to be patrolling the streets looking for criminals and saving hot girls from supervillains, what will I do? I said.

Rubberman pulled out a planner from one of the drawers in his desk and flipped it open. For now, your responsibilities will be to train in your skills and abilities as a superhero and to do basic community service projects.

Community service projects? I said. Am I going to have to pick up trash on the side of the highway or something?

No, said Rubberman, shaking his head. Instead, you will do things such as rescuing cats that get stuck in trees and volunteering at soup kitchens and other places like that.

I frowned. That doesn’t sound like something a superhero does.

"It’s what sidekicks do, said Rubberman. The point is to get the public comfortable with you. Everyone already loves and trusts Rubberman; however, no one knows who Beams is. In order to establish your reputation and earn the trust of the public, you will need to do charitable deeds around the city."

Fighting crime seems like a charitable deed to me, I said.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, said Rubberman. He closed the planner shut. But you won’t even get to do that much until later, once I decide to introduce you to the public. Since today’s your first day of work, I will have Adams show you around the Elastic Cave so you will be familiar with its layout. After lunch, I will do your first training exercise with you in the Rubber Room.

Rubber Room? I said. What’s that?

The training room, said Rubberman. It’s where I train and where I train all my new sidekicks. It is designed specifically to handle the wear and tear that superhero training usually causes, so you can go all out if you want.

Cool, I said. Will I get paid for all of this?

Yes, said Rubberman, nodding. You will be paid every Thursday, so you will get this week’s pay next Thursday.

Right, I said, nodding eagerly. And I’m being paid minimum wage, right?

Yes, said Rubberman. That is what we agreed upon during your job interview. And, since this is a part-time position, you will work about twenty hours a week, with Sundays off. But today, you will work a bit longer than usual in order to get you settled in.

I nodded again. Twenty hours a week translated to about three hours a day. I was supposed to come here after school each day to do whatever work that Rubberman needed me to do. It didn’t seem like a very demanding schedule to me, but I’d never had a job before, so maybe I would end up regretting it.

But then a question occurred to me and I said, Will you call me in if you need me in an emergency? Like, say some supervillain attacks Golden City and I’m in school. Will I be able to leave school to help?

Unfortunately, Rubberman shook his head. Sorry, but no. Government regulations state that sidekicks are not supposed to be working during school hours unless they are homeschooled or some kind of special arrangement is made ahead of time. I wouldn’t do it even if it was legal; I don’t want to risk your fellow students finding out your secret identity by having you leave in the middle of class when a supervillain attacks our city.

My shoulders slumped. So I won’t be able to drop geometry if a supervillain robs a bank or something.

Right, said Rubberman. Don’t be so down, by the way. Remember, your sidekick license can be revoked by the government if you reveal your secret identity to anyone other than your parents or me or Adams. Do you want your license revoked?

I shook my head as Adams entered the room again, this time bearing a tray with bacon, eggs, and biscuits on it. No. Still, school doesn’t seem nearly as important as protecting the city.

Protecting the city is my job, said Rubberman as Adams placed the tray on the desk; the food smelled good and made my stomach grumble. Someday, you will be able to help with that, but for now, I don’t want a repeat of what happened to my last sidekick.

What did happen to your last sidekick, by the way? I said. You never said.

Rubberman and Adams suddenly exchanged significant looks as if I had just said a secret code word that only they knew. For a moment I thought that Rubberman was going to shout at me and tell me to leave, though I don’t know why I thought that.

But then Rubberman looked at me and said, in his usual tone, Oh, our partnership just ... didn’t work out. I hired him, he didn’t do a good job, so I fired him. Happens all the time in businesses in every industry, not just this one. Nothing to worry about.

I may not have been the most socially astute guy, but even I could tell that Rubberman was lying. I decided I would do my own research on the Internet later and see if I could find any details about Rubberman’s last sidekick and what happened to him. Maybe it wasn’t any of my business, but Rubberman’s avoidance of the subject made me curious.

Anyway, said Rubberman as he sipped from his coffee, I think we’d done talking for now. Adams, will you please start Alex on his tour of the Cave and give him his costume?

Yes, Mr. Pullman, sir, said Adams with a bow. He looked at me. Mr. Fry, please follow me. Once we are out of Mr. Pullman’s office, we will begin the tour.

I wanted to stay and have some of Rubberman’s breakfast, but I think Rubberman didn’t want me in the room after asking about his last sidekick, so I rose from my seat and followed Adams out of the room. I did glance over my shoulder one last time before I left; the last thing I saw was Rubberman looking at something on his phone, and based on his frown, it probably wasn’t good.

CHAPTER THREE

This part of the Elastic Cave is called Mission Control, said Adams as we walked back into the main part of the Cave where we had entered earlier. He gestured at the huge screens at the end of the room. That is Mr. Pullman’s main computer system. Each monitor displays a different news station, as well as several smaller independent news websites that cover issues such as crime and supervillain activities. Of course, Mr. Pullman also keeps an eye on general business and political trends in order to stay on top of the game."

I nodded as I looked at Mission Control. Can Rubberman also communicate with people through that system?

Yes, sometimes, said Adams. But he prefers to communicate through his desktop or his phone; they are more private. Still, he holds conference calls through the main system sometimes, although he usually leaves me to monitor the system and give him reports on what is going on in the world today.

Cool, I said. How often does he have conference calls? And with who?

Oh, various business associates or companies he makes deals with, said Adams, waving off my question. Nothing that would interest a boy your age, I’m sure.

Hey, I find business interesting, I said. Especially the superhero business.

Yes, I am sure you do, said Adams in a voice that told me that he didn’t believe a word I said. You will probably not spend a lot of time in Mission Control. It’s not part of your duties. Instead, you will be spending more time over here.

Adams led me across Mission Control to the arch I had noticed earlier. As we passed under the arch, I glanced at the door labeled ‘EQUIPMENT AND COSTUMES’ and said, Is my costume in there?

No, said Adams. It is in your room.

My room? I said in surprise. But I’m not going to live down here.

By ‘room,’ I mean merely that it is where you will keep your work supplies while you are working here, said Adams. There is a bed, of course, but that’s only if you wish to take a nap during your lunch break or whenever there is a lull in the work. Otherwise, you will get dressed there at the start of your work day and then get undressed there at the end of your work day.

You mean I don’t get to take my costume with me? I said in disappointment.

Of course not, said Adams. The danger of someone finding your costume and uncovering your secret identity is too great a risk. Mr. Pullman believes it is better for your costume to stay here, where no one other than us could find it, than for you to take it home and risk someone stumbling upon it even if accidentally.

Gotcha, I said, although I was still disappointed. Still, I couldn’t argue with that logic, so I didn’t argue the subject any further.

When we passed under the archway, we emerged into another part of the Cave that was identical to Mission Control, except minus the huge computers. To our left was a small kitchen area, with a table with four rubber-soled chairs, plus a sink, fridge, and cupboards; it smelled vaguely of breakfast, probably because Adams had no doubt made Rubberman’s breakfast there, although the kitchen was so sparkling clean that it looked like it had been built yesterday. To the right were two doors: one labeled ‘BEAMS’ and the other labeled ‘BATHROOM.’ And on the other side of the room was another door labeled ‘RUBBER ROOM.’ There was also a hatch on the floor near the entrance to the Rubber Room, although it was locked and had no label on it to explain what its use was.

This part of the Cave is called Home, said Adams. He gestured to the kitchen area. That is the kitchen, with a fully-stocked fridge and cupboards with all of the food and drinks you need. You need not worry yourself with cooking yourself meals, however, because one of my duties is to provide fresh meals for Rubberman and, now, you.

Whoa, you mean you’re going to cook for me? I said in surprise. No joke?

No joke, said Adams. Mr. Pullman does not want you focused on anything other than your specific duties. Besides, I would rather not have a messy boy like yourself mess with the way I have things laid out there.

Messy? Was he only saying that because I looked like I had been lying in the street? I was going to tell him that I only looked messy because I fell, but Adams had already moved onto the next subject.

These two rooms here are where you will change, said Adams, gesturing at the two rooms on the right side of the chamber. The one with your superhero name is your room, the one I mentioned earlier. The one next to it is the shared bathroom and shower that we will all use down here. It is stocked with the best soaps, shampoos, and other toiletries necessary in order to ensure a pleasant bathroom experience for everyone.

So I don’t get my own bathroom? I said.

Yes, said Adams, nodding. Mr. Pullman, however, does have a bathroom connected to his office so he can quickly access it without wasting time or disrupting his work flow needlessly.

I supposed it made sense that Rubberman would have his own bathroom, but I still wondered if I could get my own at some point. Okay, but what about clothes? How do they get washed?

There is a chute connected to the bathroom, said Adams. Merely throw your dirty clothes down that chute and they will end up on Level Two, where they will be washed and cleaned by our automatic washing and drying machines.

Level Two? I said in surprise. You mean there are multiple levels to this place?

Yes, said Adams. The Elastic Cave has three levels, not counting the grocery store entrance above. We are currently on Level One, which is the main living and working area for Rubberman and us. Level Two is where clothes are washed and dried and where other supplies, such as the emergency power generator, are kept. The Rubbermobile is also kept in Level Two and has a secret entrance that allows it to leave the Cave easily.

The Rubbermobile? I said. That thing actually exists? I thought it was just a rumor on the Internet.

Mr. Pullman doesn’t use it often, but it is a real thing, said Adams. But you are not allowed to drive it. It is Mr. Pullman’s vehicle and his alone. Only he has the keys; in fact, you shouldn’t even touch it. Mr. Pullman puts a lot of effort into keeping the Rubbermobile spic and span and he would not appreciate it if his sidekick ruined it.

Well, I can’t drive it anyway, since I don’t have my driver’s license yet, I said, although I’m working on it.

Even if you did have a driver’s license, you would still need Mr. Pullman’s permission to drive it, said Adams. And let me tell you, in all of my years working for Mr. Pullman, I have never known him to give anyone, even his own sidekick, permission to drive the Rubbermobile. So do not ask him about it next time you see him.

Sure, man, I said, although deep down I was thinking about how awesome it would be if my first car could be the Rubbermobile. I doubted I could afford it, though, especially working for minimum wage part-time.

Oh, and one more thing, said Adams. While the Elastic Case does have Internet and Wi-Fi, you are not allowed to play on your phone while at work. It is fine to keep it on in case of emergency, but you are not allowed to call and text whoever you want whenever you want or play games on it or whatever it is you do with that thing.

Okay, I said. I patted my phone in my pocket. I’m not big on texting people anyway.

Yes, well, keep that in mind anyway, said Adams. Mr. Pullman dislikes lazy employees who do not do the work he has hired them to do. Use your phone in your off-time if you must, but otherwise keep it in your pocket.

Can I listen to music on it while I work? I said.

Adams folded his arms across his chest. No. No games, no music, no entertainment, nothing. At least, not until you can prove that you have a good work ethic and will not goof off and neglect your duties.

Don’t worry about me, Adams, I said, patting my chest. I never goof off. Total workhorse here.

We’ll see about that, said Adams. Anyway, you can see the Rubber Room is directly across from us. You won’t go in there until after lunch, when you will do your training session with Mr. Pullman. For now, you must go into your room and try on your new costume and make sure it fits.

I eagerly followed Adams over to the door with my sidekick name on it, but before we entered, I suddenly remembered the locked hatch and looked over at it again. Adams, you forgot to tell me about that hatch.

Hatch? said Adams, stopping and looking at me in confusion. What hatch?

That one, I said, pointing at the hatch near the Rubber Room. What is it?

I asked the question pretty casually, but the way Adams stared at me, it was like I’d just asked him for the nuclear codes. He immediately looked away, however, and said, It’s just the place where we store food supplies in case we run out in the kitchen. That way, we do not have to go all the way down to Level Two to restock our kitchen.

Why is it locked, though? I said. That seems kind of unnecessary if it’s just where extra food supplies have been put.

To keep out the mice, said Adams. Now, get into your room and try on your suit. I will wait out here until you come out."

I figured that there was probably more in the hatch than just ‘food,’ but at the same time, I was more interested in checking out my new costume than I was in finding out whatever Adams and Rubberman were actually hiding down there. I’d been most looking forward to checking out my costume when I got this job; it was one of the things I’d always enjoyed about superheroes. When I was a kid, I always liked dressing up as Prime Man, the richest and most famous superhero in the world. Of course, it was always a cheap Halloween costume from a dollar store, because my family was never rich enough to afford the nice stuff, but I expected my real superhero costume to be made of much higher quality material than what I had as a kid.

I entered my room and closed the door behind me. It was a pretty small room; there was a bed in one corner with a black blanket on it, along with a writing desk and a dresser next to it. To my left was a closet, which was empty, although based on the bare coat hangers inside it, I figured that I was supposed to put my normal clothes in there while I worked. The room itself was pretty bare; either Rubberman was too cheap to decorate it or he’d made it intentionally bare so I could decorate it however I wanted. Either way, I was going to change it to fit my personal tastes, because I planned to work here for a while.

But I really didn’t care about any of that, because my attention was drawn to the suitcase lying on the bed. I ran over to the suitcase, which was emblazoned with a logo that resembled a caped superhero standing with his arms crossed over his chest, and popped it open. I picked up the costume within it and held it up, causing the costume to unfold by itself.

It was a full body spandex suit, similar to what Rubberman wore, except it was yellow and green and didn’t seem to be as stretchy. On the chest, above where my heart would be, was an insignia that resembled a stylized ‘B,’ which was probably meant to represent my sidekick name, Beams. I was actually kind of disappointed by the colors; I thought that it might be red and black instead, but maybe Rubberman didn’t think those colors would work for me.

The costume itself felt lightweight, but also sturdy enough to handle the rough and tumble world of crime-fighting, although I didn’t know what the material was. That was when I noticed a helmet in the suitcase, fitted snugly inside a foam cast. I put the costume down and picked up the helmet, which felt firm but lightweight in my hands. The helmet looked kind of like a space helmet, except with a black visor that totally obscured my face. It seemed to be about the right size for my head, so I immediately starting putting on my costume.

It was surprisingly easy to put on the costume; after stripping my street clothes off, all I had to do was unzip the back and fit my arms and legs into the holes designed for them. I thought the costume was going to be very tight, because superhero costumes always looked tight to me, but even though it conformed to my body, it didn’t feel tight or restrictive at all. I moved my arms and legs up and down and twisted them in different directions, but it was almost like I was wearing nothing at all. I didn’t even have to wear shoes; my feet slipped into the bottom of the pant legs, which felt soft and padded, but also had treads on them to give me traction.

Standing in front of my room’s mirror, I thought I looked pretty spiffy in my costume. I finished the ensemble by putting on my helmet, though I had to take off my glasses first so I could fit it on my head. I expected that to make my vision blurry; however, when the helmet slipped onto my head, I found that the black visor behaved just like my glasses and helped me to see just as easily as if I had not taken off my glasses at all. The helmet fit my head perfectly; there was even a hole in the bottom for my mouth, which made it easier to breathe, although that was the only exposed part of my face. I discovered that the mouth part could be closed or opened, which gave me a way to protect my mouth.

Looking at myself in the mirror again, I thought I looked like a real superhero now. Well, technically sidekick, although I wondered how the visor would affect my eye beams. Based on how the visor felt, it seemed to me like it was made out of some kind of refracting glass, although I didn’t know for sure. The suit also came with some shoulder pads, knee pads, and elbow pads, probably to keep me safe in a fight, so I put them on, although they made me feel a bit silly. Still, they didn’t restrict my movement, so I didn’t complain.

Stepping out of my room, I saw Adams was still there, standing as if he had nothing better to do than wait for me to show him my costume. Now that I think about it, that was probably true.

I see you put your costume on, said Adams. Tell me, how does the suit feel? Does it fit well? Is it too tight? Or too loose?

No, it’s perfect, I said, flexing my arms to show him how easily I moved. When you guys took my measurements for the order, I didn’t think the company would do such a great job making it.

Super Apparel specializes in designing costumes for superheroes and their sidekicks, Adams said. There are other companies that provide similar services, but Mr. Pullman has always preferred Super Apparel due to their attention to quality and their great customer service. He will be pleased to learn that your costume fits; for growing boys like yourself, that can be a problem sometimes.

I nodded, running my hands along the smooth surface of my suit. Yeah, it’s nice. But how does my helmet work? Can I still fire my eye beams from it?

You can, said Adams. Your visor is made of a special refracting glass that not only lets you fire your eye beams as easily as if you were not wearing a helmet at all, but also makes them even stronger than normal. That’s why you must be careful about where and when you fire your eye beams; like when shooting a gun, you must always be aware of what is behind your target and never aim at anything you do not wish to destroy.

I know that, I said. So what else does my costume do?

It’s bulletproof, for one, said Adams. "Not that I would suggest testing that, obviously, because you’d still be hurt if you got shot. Also, it is